Hoarding and Other Things That Start With 'H'
by ficing.insane
Summary: Danny's a nice guy, and since helping your girlfriend move is something nice guys tended to do, he's got his arm up to his elbow shoved inside CJ's junk drawer. CJ/Danny, Season Seven


Title: Hoarding and Other Things That Start With 'H' .1.  
_Characters:_ CJ Cregg, Danny Concannon  
_Rating:_ Mature.  
_Notes:_ Another yahoo person requested this. And kept requesting it. So. Multi-part.  
_Disclaimer:_ All credit goes to Sorkin, Wells, & NBC/Warner Bros.

* * *

Danny's a nice guy, and since helping your girlfriend move is something nice guys tended to do, he's got his arm up to his elbow shoved inside CJ's junk drawer. He's flying out in two days, she's leaving in four-ish-maybe-five, so eighty percent of the packing's been wrapped up by now. All that's left is, well, junk.

And CJ's got a ton of junk. For a woman who spent the majority of her time at home sleeping, then showering, then bolting out the door not six hours later, she sure did go to a hell of a lot of trouble decorating the place. There're knickknacks everywhere, which he would find charming and cozy and all Martha Stewartish of her if he didn't, y'know, have to spend the next twelve hours of his life bubble wrapping her obscenely large collection of vases.

To be fair, the size of said vase collection is part his doing, seeing as he's kind of sort of been sending her flowers twice a day every day since she'd told him she loved him, but, well, could you blame him?

Anyway. CJ'd taken over the bubble wrapping for the time being, which left Danny free to start emptying her junk drawers. All nine of them. Seriously. Three in every room, plus one in the bathroom that he had no intention of touching cause, odds were, there'd be, y'know, things in there. Things that he ought not see and-or-touch on pain of death.

Not that the drawers in the bedroom would be any better. He'd left them till last, sorting through the contents of the ones from the living room and the kitchen under CJ's watchful eye for about an hour apiece. There'd been several pounds of change, loose keys, rubber bands –all harmless, normal junk type things. To be honest, he had no idea how she managed to acquire so much of the crap, especially considering that he –a filthy, male, writerly hoarder –only had one clutch of assorted crud to his name.

But, whatever. He loved her, she loved him, and if him plowing through her dragon-like store of clutter meant that they'd finally be able to go off and start a new life in California together then, so help him, he'd clean like he'd never cleaned before. Now if only he could get over his irrational fear of opening up the top drawer of her nightstand, he'd be golden.

Danny let out a breath, then eased himself down to sit on CJ's side of the bed. A cardboard box rested on the floor by his feet, all nice and empty, just waiting to be filled with whatever female-bedroom-items he was on the verge of discovering. He pushed his hand back through his hair. Y'know, this wouldn't be half as disturbing as it was turning out to be if she'd ever opened the drawer when he was around. In fact –and this might just be him being paranoid –he was pretty sure that the last time she'd had it open, she'd slammed it shut and spun around in a panic the second he'd walked in the door.

Naw. Couldn't have been. He was just paranoid. Yup, paranoid. And procrastinating. A lot. Okay, this was officially stupid. He was opening that drawer right now.

Right now.

Danny slid the thing open. Was it just him, or did that take a lot more effort than it should've? Peering inside, he could see why. It was filled –honest, to the brim filled –with junk. Change, hair ties, a brush, postcards, magazines, were those kitchen shears?, three address books…jeez, he couldn't even see the back or the bottom, there were so many things in the way.

Well, he sighed to himself, it beat finding a massive stock of –uh –girl things. Danny set to scooping things into the box, pausing every once in a while to toss a mangy looking bit of paper-slash-possible candy wrapper into a growing pile of trash. A path to the back of the drawer cleared in good time and, figuring that the draw was, in fact, safe, Danny jammed his hand as far back as it could reach.

He was intending to scoop up another handful of loose change, but instead of meeting a bunch of little metal disks, his fingers brushed up against something soft and very, very furry. Danny frowned. It was too bizarrely shaped to be a dead rodent –thank god –but that didn't stop him from being confused and, frankly, a little freaked out.

His fingers curled around the fur and tugged. With a clatter and a scrape, he pulled his hand from the drawer. There, dangling between his index finger and thumb, were a pair of shiny, black, fur-lined handcuffs.

Handcuffs. In CJ's bedroom drawer.

Holy shit.


End file.
